Tuesday, 26 July 2011

My youngest left for a school trip to Germany on Friday evening.
I haven’t heard from her since the coach was about to board the ferry in the
early hours of Saturday. My texts have’ failed’ so I presume that her mobile
cannot be used on the continent. I’m not worried (well not too worried – I know
the teachers who are with her and trust them to take care of her and to contact
me immediately should something go awry). I just miss her desperately. The
house is just too quiet. I hate it. Having said that, her big brother and
sister each went on the same trip and had a fabulous time. And I want her to
have that experience too.

Since she left I’ve spent a day in the Lake District with my
mother – sitting in many, many cafes drinking endless cups of coffee and
following my mum trying not to look bored as she reads aloud every single sign
in every single shop window is not my idea of fun. Neither is trying to look as
if I’m not with the old woman wandering round expensive gift shops loudly
proclaiming that it’s all ridiculously overpriced tat that she wouldn’t give
tuppence for. Given her opinion of the goods they sell, you’d think she’d want
to avoid such shops but this is her choice of sport – go figure! OK so I had to
put huge amounts of effort into hiding my frustration – but it distracted me
from missing my daughter so it served a useful purpose.On Sunday evening I had a date. It was pleasant enough. I
had a nice time. He was witty and attentive. The fact that he is attractive and
seems very keen to see me again is also a big plus! I’m a little wary. He does
the same job as my ex-husband and previously held the same job that my
ex-husband did when we met. He is also of a similar build. I had to keep
reminding myself that the similarities end there!

I think I’ve
forgotten the rules of dating though. To be fair, I was a self-conscious, extremely
overweight teenager and had only one boyfriend followed by two brief romances
before I married at 24. And apart from a mad phase about ten years ago when I
went on a whirlwind of dates over an 18-month period, I’ve not really dated so
I’m pretty clueless about societal expectations. It felt too revealing to say I
am a grieving mother but he raised the subject of Road Traffic Collisions (he
drives a lot) and, as the conversation progressed, it felt increasingly
dishonest not to say anything. Anyway, he said all the right things, managed to
avoid the usual platitudes/ stammering/blushing/changing the subject and the
conversation flowed very easily.

I’m seeing him again
next weekend and am quite looking forward to it. The one thing I have noticed
is my lack of excitement. There are no flips of my stomach, no big buzz - just
a sense of warm anticipation that is somewhat similar, if I’m honest, to the
sense of anticipation for going out to dinner with mate. Hardly thrilling – but
lovely all the same.

Yesterday, I spent the day covering for a friend who is off
sick long term. It’s good that I can feel useful as there isn’t much to do over
the summer when I’m not in school so one day a week will keep me busy enough
with enough down time to recharge ready for September. And I am very grateful
that I have a job to return to in September – at least I now know I can pay the
mortgage for another year.

Anyway, after finishing work yesterday, I called in at a
shop to price up tents – the one we have is far too big for just two of us and
we have been talking in terms of downsizing ever since Al died. I found the
perfect one and will go back to get it when she’s home so that we can make the
choice together – just in case she has some objection to my choice. After that,
I called in at my brother’s. I stayed for around an hour talking with the
little ones and left when they settled down to their evening meal. As I left, I
realised that my reason for the visit was that I was avoiding going home to an
empty house so, against my better judgement, I then called at my sister’s.

She reminded me of her granddaughter’s baptism next Sunday
and I said I’d be there. But it reminded me of the last family baptism when,
just one day before Al’s anniversary, no-one bothered to consider how the day
might impact on me so I raised the subject. Her response floored me. In a
frustrated/impatient tone she said, “But they’ve moved on.” As if I am
unreasonable to not know this. I do know it. I do understand that others cannot
possibly be as devastated as I am – it’s my child not theirs. I just don’t
understand how ‘moving on’ means that they are incapable of acknowledging,
however briefly, someone in pain.

Apparently, I should keep quiet. It seems that her method of
buying a cake and getting her children to sing Happy Birthday to her stillborn
child who should have been 21 was the best thing to do and maybe I should do
that too. Only I can’t see how that would work for me and so her exasperation and
annoyance was all the more evident.

I seem to have done quite a bit this week yet it has felt empty
enough to be filled with time to remember him and to dwell on how I’m not ‘moving
on’ – whatever that is supposed to mean. Somehow I feel that moving on feels
like abandoning him and I don’t know how, or even want to do that. I guess my attitude
gives my sister full permission to wash her hands of it. And yet, when I look
at my earlier blogs, I’d say that I am moving on in so many ways.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

According to thisnewspaper article, I carry my boy’s stem cells deep within my bones. It seems that during pregnancy, some of his stem cells were absorbed by my body and stored in my marrow. A part of him lives in me. A part of him is still alive. And tonight I found myself breathing a little easier at that thought.

Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. Except that I now know that he isn’t completely gone. He lives – in me. What a responsibility I have for keeping this most precious boy safe. What an honour.

For me, it matters not that every mother carries this unique gift. For me, it matters that I carry Him. He can no longer live the life he wanted or planned. So I must live to the best of my ability for him. My legacy must be that I live life to the full, to the max – in his honour.

About Me

Until 30th May 2009, I was mum to 3 young people. Two girls, 13 and 20, and a boy, 17. Suddenly, with a brief phone call, I was plunged into a nightmare. My son, Al, was dead - killed when crossing the road, by a man who, mistakenly, thought he was playing chicken and so decided to call his bluff.